


Caffè Corretto

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Collations [7]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: False Accusations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I make for a very easy suspect. You thought I was killing girls with blue paint. They dropped those copycat charges on me pretty quick." It was still breathtakingly painful, so much work and hope, snuffed out. He still wondered if she was out there, alive. They never did find the body, and Lecter had been silent on the matter. He finally got Mal over to chew on his giant greenie, and curled fingers gently behind his ear. "Good boy, yeah..."</p><p>"But they still actually charged you. Nolle pros isn't exactly a declaration of confidence," she pointed out, crossing her legs. "Although I have to admit that committing copycat murders by way of serial killing would be weird. It's the reason I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caffè Corretto

Somewhere along the way he had passed from interesting person Will had met to someone he wanted to... He didn't know. In all honesty, he had no idea. It made him feel weird and possibly a little panicky, and also hopeful in some weird way.

As if his psyche hadn't been fucked up enough before.

Now he was stuck somewhere between awkward and optimistic. He was completely fucking hopeless, but Greg Sanders didn't seem to mind.

It had been a while since he'd even tried, and they all flashed before his eyes in memory, trying and failing so badly with Alana (too unstable), Hannibal (too unstable to figure out that he was the Ripper), Molly (too unstable, period, to keep with a kid in the house), and every failed date and fucked up one night stand. It was like they could smell crazy in the air, and were appropriately drawn to it or pushed away from it.

Which was why he was bringing Greg coffee, in the hope that he was drawn to crazy.

He hadn't worked out yet whether or not crazy was on the list. Brass hadn't been wrong; Greg was a flirt. Somewhere along the way, he had cut off the flirting with everybody else and started flirting mostly with Will, which led him to believe that crazy might actually be kind of okay.

It was all part of a mating dance that Will was horrible at, but eternally hopeful about at the same time. He'd be done documenting the case soon, and then he'd lose the chance entirely. It was a matter of proving the parallels in timeline in a swine corpse that was treated with the chemicals he'd discovered on the last expert witness's work.

"Coffee. I don't get to share the interesting things I find half as often as I'd like to."

God. That grin was... stupidly attractive. It made him nervous and just a little sick and incredibly pleased with himself all at the same time. "Wow. You know the way to a man's heart. Metaphorically speaking."

He almost gave any number of answers, and all of them sort of caught in his throat at once. That he'd learned that trick from the best? That it was actually through the stomach and then up, with a sharp knife? "That metaphor works in more ways than either of us are comfortable with. But yeah, I like sharing. And it's good coffee."

Greg took a sip and made a face that Will wondered if he made in bed. That was kind of uncomfortable to consider, mostly because it seemed to go straight to his dick. "Oh. God. It's amazing coffee."

He smiled, smiled and felt like smiling as he nodded at Greg's reaction. "It's Wicked Java. Which is a completely goofy name, but."

"But," Greg agreed. "It is pretty wicked. There's nothing wrong with a little bit of wicked." No. No, there wasn't, and Will could tell from the way that he was peeking up through his lashes that he probably meant that as an offer.

Will needed to go work on the damn pigs, but preferred standing there watching Greg's expressions. He had warm brown eyes, even if making eye contact bothered him. "Just a little. What, uh." He was so out of practice, and managed a laugh at his pure awkwardness. "Sorry. I should let you get started for the day."

"Thanks for the coffee." It was earnestly meant, Will could tell. "And you can always come back by. Any time, in fact. Or I could share my favorite pastry place with you to go with your amazing coffee place."

"I'd like that." He smiled, hesitated for a moment and then he opened his notebook to scrawl his cell phone number down. "When, uh, are you free?"

The grin that earned him was practically heart stopping. "I'd like to say whenever you want, but I'm off Wednesday and Thursday."

"I have class Thursday until nine fifty. If you prefer to stick to nightshift hours..." Which he probably did, it made it easier, Will guessed.

Greg took another sip of coffee. "Well, they say New York is the city that never sleeps, but I'd say Vegas is a pretty close second. I could meet you on campus if you want."

"All right. I'm in Wittlesy Hall, the main lecture hall." It eased some of the awkwardness of the approach, that he wasn't completely just throwing himself on Greg.

"So I'll see you then." That... was definitely more than flirting, that was … Well, Will didn't know exactly what that was except that it made him feel amazingly hopeful. "And I'll bring _you_ coffee."

"Yeah. That sounds good. I'll look forward to it." He also beat an awkward retreat from the room, but hey. His lab space was just across the hall, although there was something about the smell of decaying pigs that kept people out of it when he was documenting.

The dark-headed woman seemed particularly displeased, whether it was the smell or something else.. She kept looking at him as though he had humans wrapped up instead of pigs, and he could tell her a thing or two about that. Honestly, they were performing a vitally necessary function in catching a murderer. He couldn't see what was wrong about that.

She came by after another ten minutes, and Will worked for a moment, writing more than he was moving before looking up at her. "Can I help you?"

There was something awkward about the way she watched him. Maybe it was interest, maybe it was something else. He had no idea. "Just... checking to see if you need any help."

Huh.

Not what he expected, so he stepped on his response. "No. This was your case, wasn't it...?"

She shifted uneasily and slipped into the room. "Yeah. I, um. I would like to see this guy rot in hell. So if you can prove that he's lying.... that would be great." Despite the pig thing, apparently.

"Well, I'll present you whatever I have at the end," he shrugged. "Though the defense witness treated his experiment with a growth retardant chemical. Tomorrow we should be far enough along to use it against them." And he'd have to be present in court the day after, but Brass would arrange for it on the Tuesday.

"Oh." He had never imagined that anyone would be more socially gawky than he was; then again, Will mostly used his awkwardness to hide the fact that he felt too much. "Good. That's.. thanks. For working on it."

"Your supervisor looked me up, I agreed to help." He shrugged his shoulders, making another note. He'd submit a technical report along with the court testimony.

After a long moment, he looked up and realized she was still there. It brought about some of the same responses Greg's flirting did except it made him feel kind of like a deer caught in the headlights. Considering his history, that wasn't good. "Anyway. Thanks."

Greg made him feel loose, happy. Like he wanted to run in circles, which wasn't probably the best emotion to associate with happiness, but there it was. "You're welcome."

After that, she seemed to get the hint, mostly because it couldn't get much more awkward, he figured. It was just him and his pig after that, and he got a lot done. Notes, photographs, adding notes to his notes to correlate to the picture numbers, organizing and knowing that yeah, he'd gotten it right. He'd formed good proof. He re-wrapped the corpses, stored them away again, and went in search of Brass.

When he found him, he was in his office, his hair standing up in the back as though he had ruffled it with his hand. "Oh. Graham. Come in, come in."

Rubbing at the back of the neck was stress, stress or having to lie to someone, maybe a combination of both. Will stepped in, closed the door behind him. "I'm ready for court with it. I'll type up the notes in the morning, and finish tagging the photographs for evidence tonight."

"Hey, that's great." Now if only he looked like it really was, Will could be pleased and go home. "At least something's going right tonight. So far, I got a dead boxer, a jewelry store heist, and some kind of gang thing going on." Brass shook his head. "Welcome to fight night in Vegas."

The edge of his mouth twitched a little. "Sorry I can't help you out with it." Didn't want to, _couldn't_ , couldn't get near law enforcement again, more than he had. Things had been good, just teaching again. Consultation for entomology was something that wasn't painful for him, that didn't put him in contact with the kinds of scenes that made him... unsuitable for human companionship.

"I could use an extra three guys on a night like this," Brass told him. "And Brown's disappeared, won't answer his page. You get a lot of that with the FBI?"

"Actually, yes." And he was usually the one who didn't answer his pager. Will knew, knew he should've left, should have taken that as an opportunity to bolt for the door, because he knew what came next. And he didn't.

Brass steeled himself almost visibly, like maybe Will would reject the entire notion. "So I know you've got your basic issues, and you've got good reason to have them. I know who you are, I know your history. I know you're only consulting with us, but I could use the help if you can give it. Nothing violent, nothing bloody. Just need some help gathering evidence, if you're interested."

"It'll be cheaper if you hire me than if you continue billing me at consultant's hours." He wasn't even sure why he said it, except that even at cheap state specialty consultant rates, he was expensive.

That at least got him a grin. "You're a man who enjoys your work. Teaching, I mean. You sure you want to toss in with this bunch?"

"Part time. I teach Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'd be available on the worst days of your week, Friday, Saturday and Sunday." He was looking at Brass's desk more than he was looking at the man, but he tilted a look up to his eyes, just to see.

Huh.

Jack would have looked extraordinarily pleased with himself by now, smug, fingers stapled together in pleasure. Brass was rubbing the back of his head again, frowning a little. "You sure? I could use the help, but I can't guarantee you won't see something you might not like."

No, he wasn't sure at all, but he was going with it. What did he say to that? _I can't guarantee you'll enjoy seeing a grown man have a breakdown_ , but their cases weren't BAU case. "A long as there aren't any bodies impaled on antlers, I'm generally okay."

Yeah, that raise of eyebrows wasn't what he'd call unsurprising. "Yeah, that's not something we get a lot of out here in Vegas. Maybe it's the lack of wildlife immediately available, I don't know. I'll try to keep you away from it if it happens, though." He stood and offered Will his hand. "I'll do some talking to the lab director and we'll get it worked out. Twenty hours a week or so sound good?"

He nodded. "It's a manageable amount." He wouldn't be straining himself, because if he was honest, he had too much time on his hands a lot of the time. Even if his dogs adored him.

The wry quirk of Brass's mouth as he dropped his hand said more than anything that he was at least working with people who weren't stupid and who maybe would understand his oddities. "Then it's a deal."

"I'll finish documenting the case." He tucked his hands into his pockets, and only stopped that long enough to open the door to let himself out. "Good luck with fight night tonight."

"We'll need it."

And then some, but Will drew in a deep breath and began to stroll down the hallway, forming ideas about what he was going to say to Greg, or maybe how. He wasn't sure, and he wondered if it would bother him.

Maybe he should have asked about dating policies in regards to possible employment.

He'd pick those up online, later. When he was home. The Internet was at once less fraught and more fraught without Freddie circling in the waters, and he missed her bullshit when he least expected it. Like an old pet, the kind who went unbearably incontinent long ago and who bit nearly everyone who came within reach, but he could look for things without wondering where he was in the news cycle now.

Greg was in motion when he came through the hall between DNA and trace, and he considered whether or not he should stop and talk with him. Another glance revealed Catherine sitting on a stool just to his right, slightly out of sight, and yeah. That determined for certain that he wasn't stopping, so he headed on out through reception.

Let no man accuse him of unnecessary bravery in the face of a fight. Not when it was a fight he didn't need to have. He wasn't sure why, but Catherine had looked at him, repeatedly, like she wanted to peel off his skin. It was just better not to engage as much as possible, and so he passed by without stopping. He could see Greg in a day or three, and there would be conversation and coffee and pastries, with no Catherine Willows peering at him suspiciously.

Some people were just suspicious, and he couldn't change them. He'd learned that a long time ago, and so he had just stopped trying.

It was for the best that he didn't consider what Willows probably thought about him.

Besides. He needed to stop for dog food, and there were better things to think about.

~*~*~*~

Mornings came late for him on his days off, made him lazy. The dogs woke him when they wanted out, and he got up, threw together breakfast for them and himself, played, and mostly. Mostly did nothing.

It was kind of a relief to do a lot of nothing after spending Tuesday morning in court, Tuesday afternoon pulling himself together, and Tuesday night teaching. Frankly, he needed the time to kind of pull himself together. Andora had spent the morning yipping at Winny's heels, and Winny had spent the morning ignoring the fuck out of her altogether while Mal had continued winding around his legs, climbing up to sit with him any time that he settled in a place big enough for both of them.

He wrapped his arms around him, and Mal luxuriated in it to the dull drone of bad tv on in the background. Wednesdays and Mondays were going to stay his sacred days as much as he could manage, because that right there... was very easy to blank his mind. Warm dogs and tomato soup cooking down on the stove, and vast emptiness in his mind.

Which was why he startled when the knock on the door came.

He had a pistol in his hand before he'd even gotten standing entirely, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Mal gave a low whine and Andora and Winny both stopped still where they stood, Andora slinking onto her belly. A few steps and he was against the wall, moving quietly and carefully towards the door.

Mal, Mal would throw himself at whoever it was without thinking, if they set foot in the house while Will was holding a gun, but guns versus guns, he was still not the best at. Never had been, even if he remembered every damn shooting lesson he'd ever taken.

It was the only fact telling him, deep deep down, that he didn't want to kill people.

He settled himself beside the door, not in front of it. "Who is it?"

"Catherine Willows."

...Yeah, that wasn't what he'd call a ringing endorsement for putting away his firearm, but he could only imagine what she would decide about him if he opened the door that way. His heart rate did slow down again, though, and so he carefully tucked the pistol into the table drawer beside the front door and began opening the deadlocks.

He gently waved his hand at Mal, and slowly edged open the door. Will was pretty sure that the way he greeted Catherine was something he could never live down, but he didn't dress up for around the house like he did for court or even class. 

It was fucking hot in Vegas. "Catherine. What brings you here?"

Her eyebrows rose faintly in a way that said that she had noticed the shorts. "Ah, I... wanted to talk to you. Actually. Maybe I should have called ahead."

"It's my day off." He enunciated it very carefully, stepping back. "Why don't you come in. Since you're here." He had a nasty habit of living in one area of space; the last house, he'd lived in the front room.

This one was built better for him, and he'd taken his time looking for a place. Everything was open, no real doors. Living room to kitchen and then his bed was around a wall. The only door that closed was the bathroom door, and the closets. Pantry. It was heaven.

It was apparent that she was curious, her gaze taking in the layout, thoughtful, encompassing. Mal was still close by, and Will could tell that the growl was still prepared to come out of his throat at any second. The hair standing on the back of his neck said as much, and Andora was slinking around the edge of the couch, looking as though her teeth might open and snap the second Catherine got close. "Nice place."

"I like it." He let his eyes drift, seeing it how she might see it, and finding it... organized, comfortable. A few lumps of clutter, the pictures on the outside of the fridge, the piles of books. Notebooks that he was working out of, a MacBook abandoned on the dinner table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was surprised to hear that you were going to work at the lab. I thought that I would come by and talk with you since it's pretty apparent that you're avoiding me." Like the plague, in fact.

"That's perceptive of you. I generally avoid people who seem likely to pick a fight with me." He took a step backward, nudging Andora back gently. "Okay, who wants treats? Sorry, you have to give me a second, they're not accustomed to people inside the house."

The word treats sent Andora and Winny scrambling for the pantry, although Mal still seemed inclined to attack. It was funny that he would be so nervous and also so utterly protective at the same time.

"Your dogs are kind of adorable."

"Yeah. Mal, they were going to put down at the shelter. Messy past, abusive household, drunk dad. Andora was abandoned, and she had some behavioral issues for a while. My vet called me about Winny after someone hit her with a car and the people who brought her in couldn't pay or keep her. I actually suspect it was the people who'd hit her, but. They could have left her to die, so." He grabbed the big greenies from the fridge, and crouched down to pass out a round of gentle pettings. "Yeah, who're my good girls? C'mon, Mal. We can't eat the nice lady. C'mon over here."

They all came obediently enough, Andorra jumping up ecstatically while Winny stood, tail wagging. Mal still seemed uncertain, and Catherine made the effort to respect that, settling on a stool at the kitchen island. "I have to admit that I was pretty suspicious of you in the beginning."

She still was or she wouldn't be sitting there.

"I make for a very easy suspect. You thought I was killing girls with blue paint. They dropped those copycat charges on me pretty quick." It was still breathtakingly painful, so much work and hope, snuffed out. He still wondered if she was out there, alive. They never did find the body, and Lecter had been silent on the matter. He finally got Mal over to chew on his giant greenie, and curled fingers gently behind his ear. "Good boy, yeah..."

"But they still actually charged you. Nolle pros isn't exactly a declaration of confidence," she pointed out, crossing her legs. "Although I have to admit that committing copycat murders by way of serial killing would be weird. It's the reason I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

He tried not to roll his eyes when he looked up at her, shifting smoothly to a standing position. "The FBI doesn't hold it against me. We were all victims of a very well enacted insider job." Catherine's eyes drifted to his fridge door, and he knew what she saw without having to turn around. Molly and Josh, Jack and Bedelia at some award something, a picture he'd gotten from Freddie at some point in their back and forth of Hannibal and Alana, standing side by side and both looking quite, quite attractive, like they were in the midst of sharing some joke.

It reminded him that he wasn't the only one who was fooled.

"They say he's a pure psychopath," Catherine murmured. "I can see how that would be the case." She paused for a moment, watching him. "Well. I suppose we'll be working together then." 

"Mmm, only part time. I enjoy teaching, but this gives me a good excuse to stay more current on my techniques." And he'd missed it, in a way. Now he just needed to keep it from becoming the runaway train that ran his life. He squared his shoulders, and looked up at her, eyebrows, set of her mouth, edge of her cheekbone. "What did you do before forensics?"

That was an interesting expression. "I... was an exotic dancer. Polite name for stripper. It's good money."

"Do you enjoy talking about it at work?" He knew the answer was no. He lifted an eyebrow at her, and reached down to pet Mal again as he finally laid out on the floor with his greenie. No one was going to get a leg chewed off. "Probably about as much as I enjoy speculating on what degree of mental illness my former... colleague has."

Yeah. That expression more or less said she'd concede to that much. "Can't say it bothers me much. It put me through school and put a roof over my head, but I get your point."

"Good. Then I think we'll be able to work together just fine. Are there any other concerns I can help you put down?" As though he were standing in his office or his lecture hall and not in a ratty t-shirt and shorts in his kitchen with his back to a wall of deeply incriminating photos.

Yeah, there was something. He could tell. "Greg Sanders." Oh, great. "He's a good kid. Just keep it in mind."

"My last ex still keeps in touch with me," he deadpanned. Both of them, in fact, but that was probably more of an argument that he was a horrible person. "I'm just... I don't actually hurt the people I'm closest to. It's more that they assume 'quirky' doesn't actually mean 'train wreck'. And then they realize that no, I was not joking, and they leave. And that's okay. I wouldn't sign up to stay with me either if I had a choice in the matter."

He could see the moment that whatever it was clicked for her, and he hated that look. No one needed to feel sorry for him, not ever. She slid to her feet and smiled, Mal going still when she moved. "Guess I'll be seeing you at work then."

Apparently she'd gotten whatever answer she wanted, and that was that. He moved up as well, goading Mal back with a quiet 'tchht'. "Once the paperwork's through. Have a good... night. Whatever it is for you, Catherine."

That laugh was rueful. Nice, though. "Are you kidding? I'm a working mom. From here, I pick up my daughter, try to get her fed and through homework, and pray I catch a nap before I go in to work."

"Good luck with her, then." He missed juggling Josh's care, missed interacting with him, teaching and trying to be a good stand in for his dead father.

"I can use all the help I can get." Honesty was nice, and it made him feel better about that at least. He'd take what he could get. "So I'll see myself to the door."

"Yeah, sorry. Mal's feeling jumpy." Mal had seen him get his gun and was ratcheted up to the ceiling. Dogs read body language very well, and he expected a threat, not a friend.

Not that she needed to know any of that.

Ever.

He walked her to the door, saw her out with a few more murmured words, and only relaxed once she was gone entirely. It was a relief, and the dogs could all tell when he finally untensed. He re-locked the doors, and shook out his shoulders, wanting to laugh at himself. The rest of the lab had been... okay, better than okay, but Catherine had some problem on some level, and he didn't know if he'd addressed it. Maybe he hadn't. Probably he hadn't, even, but whatever conclusion she'd arrived at before leaving was her own, and it was good that he wasn't living in everyone else's head anymore. It was a good sign.

It was.

It took work, but he could stay in his own head. Everything was too sensitive and he didn't touch anything, didn't like to be touched much, but he was still hanging in there. It was all about management, about being careful not to overtax himself. Twenty hours a week would be easy.

So long as he remembered that, he should be fine.


End file.
